You Are Remembered
by District 9 Tribute
Summary: They may just be dead tributes to the Capitol, but they will be remembered by their families and their districts. One-shots for each of my dead tributes' families after they're gone. Used to be 'Obituaries to My Dead Tributes'. Rated T because some of these deaths will be gruesome.
1. Opening

**The title should be self-explanatory, but I'll explain this anyways. All of the obituaries for my dead tributes will be posted** ** _here_** **and not my profile. This will be updated irregularly. However, this is more for me organizing the obituaries, but you still can read it if you want. I'm not sure when it will be updated next after the first one (I only have one other tribute in the arena, and she's a Career so she might make it pretty far). Anyway, hope you enjoy.**

 **-D9T**


	2. Hayden Jackman

**Hayden Jackman, age 12, District Nine Male.**

 _Shot by Elicia Alopa, D2F. Placed 21/24._

(in DjEkat's 34th Hunger Games)

Hayden, you were a suicidal little 12 year old. I submitted you as a bloodbath, but I got attached to you a little bit. You couldn't participate in the interviews because of suicidal actions or get a training score for the same reason. When Elicia killed you, I knew you were finally happy. You were with Trinity again. DjEkat did an amazing job with you. I'll miss you, pal. Enjoy the afterlife.


	3. Rubia Chrome

**Rubia Chrome, D1F, age 16**

 _Stabbed in the throat by Elicia Alopa, D2F_

Placed 4/25, 3 kills (Arun Cooper, Pea Seawing, Calder Davis)

(in DjEkat's the 34th Hunger Games)

NOOOOOO RUBIA! You had potential to win, and I thought you could. You made it so far, and did so well. I really thought you would become my first ever victor, but Elicia got in the way. You were full of confidence and strength, and I loved you. Your killer went on to win (sorry to everybody who hasn't read that yet). Hey, you made it the second farthest for the Careers, which is a huge feat. DjEkat wrote you perfectly, but you lost confidence at the end. That was your downfall. Goodbye Rubia. Enjoy being with Jasmine and Jasper and your victims again. I'm sure they'll be glad to see you.


	4. Zander Trans

**Zander Trans, D6M, age 17**

 _Struck with a mace by Valkner Stross, D3M_

Placed 20/24, 0 kills

(in 66samvr's Rebellious Fate)

* * *

 ** _Joella Cart, age 17_**

 ** _Zander's Best Friend_**

* * *

So early. Too soon. Joella had hoped and prayed that Zander would come back to Six, that he would come back to her, but he didn't. Zander Trans, her best friend, lay dead on the ground, his body broken and bloodied, on the very first day.

There were tears, Joella would have to admit, as well as a lot of cursing and screaming. After all, her best friend was dead. Was she just supposed to sit around and accept it?

Heck no.

When the hovercraft with the bodies arrived, Joella watched from a distance as two Capitol workers first took out a coffin too small for Zander—it was for Florina, the reaped girl who also died too young—then another and Joella felt something simmering in the pit of her stomach, something that was a cross between anger and grief and instability.

Everything was different. The tightrope that Joella had precariously walked across every second ever since Zander was reaped had snapped, and she was in free fall. Falling towards a dark pit where the survival rate was zero percent.

There was a small funeral. Sola, Zander's sister, his aunt and uncle, Joella and her family were the only ones there. The casket was closed. For a while, Joella stood staring at the polished mahogany box that contained her best friend, until she saw tears dripping down on it.

 _What are you doing, Jo? Are you_ crying?

Zander's voice. In the goodbye room. The vivid memory of his strong, muscled arms around her weak, scrawny frame, and him telling her that he would be fine, don't worry, he'll be back before she knew it.

And suddenly, all Joella wanted was to collapse. She wanted to go back in time, to that moment in the goodbye room where Zander's arms were locked around her. At that moment in time, Joella had allowed herself to believe that Zander could win. He was so strong.

His arms around her. His voice drifting to her ears. His fingers wiping away her tears.

His arms that provided her a safe, warm feeling. He had been her point of stability ever since he had saved her life during the rebellion. He didn't just provide her with safety, he was safety itself, one constant point in Joella's world while the rest of it fell apart.

His arms, his voice, his fingers.

Later that day, watching as he was lowered into the Earth. Joella stood at a distance as the rebels and what was left of Zander's family crowded around the grave. After everybody had left, that was when Joella walked up to the grave.

 _Zander Trans, age 17. Lost to the Second Hunger Games._

Arms, voice, fingers.

And Joella fell to her knees beside the simple stone rectangle where Zander Trans, Zane, her best friend and her savior, lay buried.

The first of her tears watered the gravestone.

* * *

Obituary

Oh, Zander. I feel like you had so much potential in these Games, but you got too cocky, too confident, too head-strong. You ran into the bloodbath with a target on your back. And, well, the rest of your body. Valkner beat you all over. I loved you, even though you were rebellious. To me, it was endearing. I understand 66samvr's reason for killing you. You're in a better place now. Have fun being with your parents again. Thanks so much to 66samvr for accepting him and bringing him to life. You really did a great job.


	5. Equila West

**Equila West, D10F, age 14**

 _Speared in the back by Adonis Stone, D2M_

Placed 10/24, 0 kills

(in 66samvr's Rebellious Fate)

* * *

 _ **Marshall West, age 10**_

 _ **Equila's Brother**_

* * *

Marshall couldn't accept the fact that Equila was gone, too. Not that he didn't want to, which he didn't, but he mentally could not. Not after his father's death in the rebellion, his other sister, Taia, being shot in front of him. And now Equila, speared by that District Two boy, Adonis. It was only Marshall and his mother, now, and that was a life that Marshall wanted to share with the rest of his deceased family.

Marshall felt the back of his eyes burning from tears. What had his sister done to deserve this fate? What? She was always a kind, caring person, who hadn't done anything to hurt anybody. The memory of her telling him what had happened to Taia bubbled to the surface. He had been eight at the time.

The arms of his mother around him, squeezing him and telling him that it would be alright. Equila was safe now. She wasn't in pain anymore. His mother's voice barely broke through the haze of grief.

Equila laughing and smiling, playing with him in their backyard.

"How do you know she's okay?"

"Mothers know things like that."

Equila holding his hand and holding him close as fighting raged around them.

"I already miss her."

"I know you do, honey."

Equila standing in her reaping pen, looking back at him and smiling. Her face said that she would be fine. _Don't worry, Marshall. I'm okay._

"Why would they do that to her?"

"We live in a terrible place, Marshall. All those poor children were scared."

"I don't think Equila was scared."

"She was, honey, she just did a good job hiding it."

In the goodbye room. Equila hugging him, and promising she would come back. Promising. _Don't worry, Marshall. I'll be fine._ The last time he saw his sister in person.

Feeling very small, Marshall asked his mother, "When will we see her?"

The parade, the interviews. Equila dressed up in fancy Capitol clothes, talking to the crowd who wanted her death.

"Whenever Desmond dies."

Lined up on her pedestal, waiting for the Games to begin. Three bodies on the ground, the other two vaporized by the mines. The rest of the Games flashed in Marshall's mind and he started sobbing. He remembered the emptiness of the house after Equila was reaped, and the fact that it would be this empty forever settled in.

Seeing her write _Hi Marshall_ in the mud. Writing a letter for her. Picking out a token for her, her friend Cassidy's leather necklace. Tears flowed freely as the memory of the feast hit, and finally sunk in. Seeing Equila waiting around the Cornucopia, as her district partner, Desmond, ran out first. Then seeing her run out, hitting the boy from Nine, but getting away. Grabbing her bag, then the chase. Carina and Urijah against Equila. Then seeing her run into their camp, and the spear through her back.

Marshall sobbed against his mother's chest. "Don't let them take me, Mom. Don't let them take me like they took Equila."

"I won't, Marshall. I promise."

* * *

Obituary

Equila...my baby. Equila was the first tribute I ever submitted to an SYOT, so I was already attached to her even before she was brought to life. She may have not been the flashiest tribute in the world, but rather a simple, quiet young girl who had been though so much suffering during the rebellion. At least you're with your sister and father now, my sweet girl. I think you're happy where you are. No resurrection stories for you. Thanks so much to 66samvr for accepting Equila and turning my first submission into a likable character. 10th place is great. I'm proud of you, my child.

* * *

 **There was the West family's reaction to seeing Equila be killed. I'm thinking of changing this to a family's reaction with the obituary at the end. I'll get Zander's out later, but I'm not going to write one for Rubia or Hayden. I can't remember them.**


	6. Terran Straw

**Terran Straw, D9M, age 16**

 _Stomach slashed open by Urijah Woodley, D11M_

Placed 8/24, 1 kill (Florina Locke, D6F)

(in 66samvr's Rebellious Fate)

* * *

 _ **Winnow Sheath, age 16**_

 _ **Terran's Girlfriend**_

* * *

Winnow just kept running. Running. Running past the houses of her neighbors, through the crowded square, and into the wheat fields. Tears streamed down her face. Terran was dead. Her kind, selfless, perfect boyfriend was gone. Never coming back.

Ever.

Winnow crawled between two bundles of wheat. This was Pellia's secret spot. Where she went whenever home life became unbearable. Now it was where Winnow went to mourn Terran.

She knew that she couldn't stay here long. Pellia was still out in that arena. Her little sister was risking her life, trying to get back home to her. Winnow had to stay strong. Not just for herself, for her family.

 _"So, you have both your sister and your boyfriend in the arena, Winnow. Has that been difficult for you?"_

 _"It hasn't been easy. I'm hoping that one of them can come back to Nine."_

Wiping away her tears, trying to compose herself.

 _"Is there anything you would like to say to your sister?"_

 _"I want to tell Pellia that I'm so proud of her for making it this far. She's so brave, and I hope that she can continue to perform like she is."_

Crawling out of the wheat, and walking back through the field.

 _"Is there anything you would like to say to Terran?"_

 _"Terran...thank you. Thank you for keeping Pellia alive. You both mean the world to me, and I love you. I always will, no matter what happens in that arena."_

Winnow walked back through the square, reliving the day of the reaping, the day her life fell apart. Looking up at the Justice Building, Winnow saw the stage set up, Terran and Pellia standing together up there.

She walked back through the streets and back into her house. Her mother stood, and wrapped her arms around Winnow. "I'm sorry, honey," she whispered. Winnow felt the tears coming on again.

The television was still on, the screen showing that boy from Eleven, Urijah, with his allies, reveling over his kill. Then they showed the tribute stats again. Urijah had three kills. They showed a hologram of Terran's face, and put it on the end of the list of dead tributes.

Winnow's father stood. He had cut back on his drinking, and was almost becoming tolerable. But Winnow still hated him. He had hurt her and Pellia when he was in a rage. He was a monster. He hadn't even said goodbye to Pellia after she was reaped. He moved to hug her, but Winnow took a step back.

"Don't touch me," she said to him.

"Winnow," her father started, but Winnow cut him off.

"Don't try to apologize for what you've done," Winnow said, starting to cry again. "Don't try to make me feel better. Terran is gone and there's nothing you can do about it!" She started screaming. "Terran gave his life so that Pellia could live! Terran..." Winnow fell to the ground, sobbing. Somebody was kneeling next to her, rubbing her back.

Winnow wanted two things now. She wanted Terran back. And she wanted Urijah dead.

* * *

Obituary

Aw, Terran. You are probably one of my favorite tributes I've created. You were loyal and selfless, and you made the ultimate sacrifice for the well being of your girlfriend. You gave your life so that Pellia could live. Nobody else could do that. I'll definitely miss you. You were just a great person. Now you can be with your cousin, June, now. Thanks to 66samvr for accepting Terran and creating him into a likeable character. You did a fabulous job.


	7. Pellia Sheath

**Pellia Sheath, D9F, age 12**

 _Drowned in a flood._

Placed 7/24, 0 kills

(in 66samvr's Rebellious Fate)

* * *

 ** _Leigha Sifter, age 12_**

 ** _Pellia's Best Friend_**

* * *

Leigha wasn't sure what this emotion boiling inside of her was. Was it rage? Sadness? Happiness because her friend wasn't suffering anymore? She just didn't know. The only thing she knew was that Pellia was dead.

Instead of dwelling on the big picture, Leigha's mind drifted to smaller things. Pellia would never reach her teenage years. She would never have her first kiss, something that she and Leigha had laughed about for a long time. No more birthday parties with her, no more teasing her about boys, no more looking for her in her special wheat shelter. None of that. Not anymore.

Leigha walked to Rian's house, the other member of their ex-trio. With a sudden pange of sorrow, Leigha realized that there was only a duo now. It couldn't be a trio with only two members. The thought caused fresh tears to erupt from her eyes.

 _Leigha, I'm scared._

 _You can do this, Pellia. Terran will help you get back._

Leigha threw open the door to Rian's house. She knew that his parents wouldn't mind. But the scene before her made Leigha want to leave. Rian was curled up on his couch, sobbing, while his parents comforted him. She felt her bottom lip begin to quiver.

 _I'm going to die._

 _No, you're not. You're coming back._

Leigha wanted to comfort her friend, but she felt herself breaking down, too. Tears welled in her eyes, tremors raced through her. Frozen. Somehow, she found her voice. "Rian."

He looked up, his face so full of grief that it set Leigha off. She simply collapsed, crying her heart out. Somebody moved over to her, kneeling beside her. Arms wrapped around Leigha's small frame, and she leaned against the warm body, sobbing violently.

Hands stroking her hair. A gentle voice whispering in her ears. Pellia didn't have anybody there for her. She died alone, without anybody in the arena who even cared about her. The thought made Leigha cry harder. It wasn't fair.

 _No, wait! No, Leigha, don't go! Don't take her! Please!_

 _It's okay, Pellia! You'll be fine! The Peacekeeper's hand on her arm pulled at her skin, but Leigha still strained to reach her friend. Pellia's frantic cries were ignored by the Peacekeeper, who yanked Leigha out of the room and slammed the door, leaving Pellia alone in the room. Her wails were still heard through the door._

Leigha pulled away from Rian's mother, and sat beside her friend. She pulled him into her embrace, and they cried together.

"At...at least it was a peaceful way to go," Leigha managed. "She wasn't, like, torn to pieces like that Four girl." She felt Rian nod against her shoulder.

"I want her back," Rian muttered. "She's gonna miss out on so much!" More tears built, but Leigha blinked them back.

Yes, Pellia was going to miss out on a lot in life. Leigha had planned out so much for them. They were going to go on their first date together. They were going to be bridesmaids at each other's weddings. They were going to live next door to each other, when they were older and Pellia finally escaped her abusive father. They would stay best friends for life. They would grow old together, and then have a double funeral.

But that wasn't going to happen. None of that was going to happen. Pellia was dead, and there was nothing that Leigha could do about it besides attend her funeral.

The non-double funeral.

* * *

Obituary

Oh, sweet, sweet, Pellia. You were my little baby, and I loved you. You were sweet and kind and still had your childhood innocence despite having a drunken and abusive father. Your sister and your friends were deeply affected by your loss, and so was I. After all, you were one of my first submissions. You made it so far, despite being in the arena with much older, stronger tributes. Thanks to 66samvr for accepting this little girl and bringing her to life. Seventh place is amazing for a twelve year old. I'm proud of you, my baby.


	8. Viola Pierre II

**Viola Pierre II, D2F, age 18**

 _Stabbed by Calvin Heidi, D1M_

Place 87/112, 0 kills

(in LadyCordeliaStuart's Resurrection Resurrection)

* * *

 _ **Violet Pierre, age 20**_

 _ **Viola's Sister**_

* * *

Violet wiped away her tears, trying not to stain her white dress while her best friend, Pallas, held her. She knew she shouldn't be sad - after all, it was her wedding day - but she felt like she was killing her family name. With both of her parents and her dear sister Viola dead, she was the only Pierre left. Her family would die.

"What's wrong, Violet?" Pallas asked her. Violet wiped her eyes, and looked at her friend.

"I'm sorry," Violet whimpered. "I just...it hit me all of a sudden...I wish Viola was here." Pallas just sighed, and extended her arms so that she was facing Violet.

"I know you miss her," Pallas said. "But it's been eight years, Violet. Eight years. Can you believe that?"

"She would have her own kids by now," Violet muttered. Pallas nodded, then glanced at the clock.

"I have to go," Pallas said, giving Violet a final hug. She smiled. "See you out there." Violet just nodded.

Being alone again, Violet began to dwell on her worst memories from her childhood. Her mother being blasted to pieces in a granite mine. Her father dying right in front of her. Her first reaping, where Viola was supposed to volunteer. She had told Violet that she wasn't going to, so that they could stay together. But Viola was reaped anyways.

Violet felt herself slipping. Her mental stability had been heading downhill ever since Viola died. Her sister had been her point of stability in a rough district. Now, she had to rely on herself for stability.

 _Violet, listen to me. I'm going to fight out there to get back to you._

Violet smoothed out her dress and got ready to meet her new husband. It was her day. She was supposed to be happy for just this one day. She was supposed to forget all the bad things that happened to her for just a few hours. But she couldn't get the memories out of her head.

 _You lied to me, Viola,_ Violet thought, fighting back more tears. The large doors in front of her opened and Violet quickly grabbed the bouquet of faded plastic flowers that all brides in District Two used. The thought of her mother carrying these flowers during her wedding day made Violet smile. She moved her feet forward.

 _Viola crept around the temple, staying in the shadows, trying to stay away from confrontation, a mace swaying at her belt._

Violet walked down the aisle alone, wanting her father with her to walk her down the aisle. Wanting her mother to be sitting closest to her when she kissed her new husband. Wanting her dear older sister to be standing with all of the other bridesmaids. Wanting her family.

 _She turned a corner, and drew her mace as she locked eyes with Calvin Heidi of District One. He drew a chakram, and feigned a strike to her chest, driving the blade into her leg, and leaning on it to push it in even further. Viola unleashed a guttural scream._

Violet reached the end of the aisle, and climbed a few steps to be on the same level as her bridesmaids and her to-be husband, Carson. Carson smiled at her and Violet bit her lip, trying not to smile fully. She took his hands.

 _Viola tried to push Calvin away with her mace, and Calvin swiped the chakram against her stomach, causing more blood to pour out. She pushed the mace further into Calvin's chest, and fell forward because of her momentum. Calvin forced the blade into her back._

Violet took her vows and tried to keep tears from her eyes. And as Violet kissed her new husband, her sister died a second time.

* * *

Obituary

Oh, Viola. Your first story was abandoned, so I sent to LadyCordeliaStuart, where you were briefly summarized in a story with over 100 tributes. I'm happy that you got written in the first place. You were a reluctant Career who lost so much before the Games and left your little sister alone in the district. But you really were reluctant, and I loved you. Rest In Peace.


	9. Cottyn Thimble II

**Cottyn Thimble II, D8F, age 15**

 _Knife thrown by Dylan Aquarius, D4M._

Placed 84/112, 0 kills

(in LadyCordeliaSuart's Resurrection Resurrection)

* * *

 _ **Fray Thimble, age 23**_

 _ **Cottyn's Brother**_

* * *

Fray took his young daughter by the hand, a single daisy in the other. The child cried, as if sensing his impending sorrow. Fray picked her up, and the small girl squirmed, her lips curled downwards in a frown. Fray put his fingertip on his daughter's nose.

"It's okay, Kit," Fray whispered, and his wife, Satin, stepped out of their tiny home. She took Kit from Fray, and bounced the child on her hip.

"Are you giving Daddy trouble, little girl? Huh?" Satin cooed, and Kit laughed. A simple, pure sound of delight that made Fray's heart melt. Oh, how he wished Cottyn could have met this sweet girl...

When Cottyn died, Fray had been devastated. His family had already been through so much: his parents divorcing when he was a baby, his mother remarrying Vez Yarrn, a man who turned out to be a murderer. Cottyn being reaped, and ultimately dying in the arena. Today would have been her twenty sixth birthday. It had been eleven years since she died.

 _Eleven years._

Satin took Fray's hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. "It's going to be fine," she whispered. Fray nodded glumly.

They took off towards the District Eight cemetery, Satin having to tug Kit along every few yards. Fray clutched his daisy even tighter, the way he would sometimes see Cottyn clench her charcoal pencils when she was having her hallucinations as she was drawing them out. Sometimes he would ask her why she was so scared all the time.

Her answer had always been a simple, "I'm not."

 _Cottyn, what happened?_

 _Nothing, Fray._

 _Are you sure?_

 _Yes._

They reached the cemetery, and Fray led the way towards the section for fallen tributes. Past the gnarled tree and over its roots. Waves upon waves of gray stones marked with names of dead children, long forgotten by the district and the Capitol. Forgotten by everybody except for their families who would never forget.

 _Never forget._

Fray's feet easily navigating the terrain, Satin following, with little Kit stumbling at each step. Searching. Seeking. One name in this entire place had meaning to Fray; one out of thousands.

Then he saw it. The worn leather-bound book, cracked and faded from being out in the elements for so long, the dried up petals of dead daisies just like the one in his hand strewn around it. But Fray would know it anywhere. Cottyn's sketchbook.

Fray walked towards the gravestone, blocked out the sounds of Satin and Kit walking behind him, and when he reached the simple stone, he knelt next to it.

 _Cottyn Thimble, aged 15. Lost to the 38th Hunger Games._

Fray placed his daisy beside the gravestone, the remnants of the other ones swirling in the wind. He picked up the book, and glanced towards Satin and Kit. Satin had their daughter in her arms, giving Fray a sympathetic look. They kept their distance. And so Fray opened the book, his fingertips trailing along the gentle charcoal curves of the drawings, the terrifying creatures taking his breath away. All born with the stroke of a pencil and Cottyn's vivid imagination.

He laid the book back down, and patted the gravestone, tears pooling in his eyes and threatening to roll down his cheeks. "Happy birthday, big sister," Fray whispered. "I miss you."

He stood. And walked away from his sister's grave.

* * *

Obituary

There's so much to say about you Cottyn, I don't think I could get it all out. You were amazing. So much happened to you before the Games and it caused you to evolve into the character you were: an ADHD girl with hallucinations and a crazy imagination. You were probably one of my favorite tributes I've submitted. You were crazy and I loved it. Thanks to LadyCordeliaStuart for writing Cottyn. I loved everything you did with her.


	10. Jeanie Umbry

**Jeanette "Jeanie" Umbry, D8F, age 13**

 _Beheaded by Icykill, Capitolite Hunter._

Placed 19/24, 0 kills

(in SilverflowerxRavenpaw's Running Man: the 20th Hunger Games)

* * *

 _ **Harold Umbry, age 42**_

 _ **Jeanie's Father**_

* * *

Harold watched the television, his wife and other daughter, Lylia, laying on the sofa together, asleep. He didn't blame them. It had been an exhausting day, and it wasn't even close to sundown. But none of them had gotten any sleep the night before, knowing that the Games would begin that next day. When Jeanie escaped the bloodbath - intact and with all of her allies - it felt as if a weight had been taken off the entire house. Jeanie was safe for now. Jeanie had survived the bloodbath. Jeanie was going to be fine.

On the screen, she continued to run. Run, run, run. The Games were a game of running. Running from danger. Careers running towards their next victims. Mutts running towards helpless tributes. Run, run, run. Jeanie was still running.

 _She's going to be fine._

She wasn't going to be fine.

Her group of allies stopped, and a man began walking towards them. When the camera panned away from the group of tributes and onto the man's face, Harold felt his blood turn to ice. _Icykill_. A Hunter. Harold tensed, and the camera zoomed out, and focused back on the tributes, Icykill's shadow falling over his daughter. She whispered something to her allies, and they turned to run.

 _Jeanie, run,_ Harold silently begged. _Please. Turn and run._

She didn't move. She didn't run. She couldn't move without slipping on ice. There wasn't anything she could do.

 _Now._

Harold watched, frozen with fear, as Icykill brought out a sword. Jeanie's ally, Kenzie, started screaming, and Harold wanted to scream as well. Not Jeanie. That man wouldn't be so cold-hearted as to kill a thirteen year old girl, would he? Harold was only proven disappointingly wrong as the Hunter swung his arm back and sliced his daughter's head off in one clean swipe.

Harold didn't remember making any noise as he watched Jeanie die. But the next thing he knew, his wife and Lylia bolted awake, asking him what was wrong, what happened, was Jeanie okay. He didn't respond. He wanted to tell them. His voice wouldn't work. They looked at the screen. He felt tears begin to run down his face. Lylia screamed, then collapsed, weeping.

His precious daughter lay dead on the Capitol streets, her head five feet from her body, her killer standing over her.

The broken father stood, and, instead of comforting his family, walked into Jeanie's bedroom. He locked the door, listening hard to the clicking noise that his daughter loved so much. All of her papers were still arranged on her little table, her pencils strewn across the papers. Harold picked up one of the papers and began to read it.

 _Prologue: In the distance, a mother weeps for her child. A brother screams for his sister. Everywhere, mother and fathers, brothers and sisters, wonder where the young children whom they love have gone. There will be no answers that day, or the next, or the next. They begin to wonder if there will be an answer._

Harold flipped through the pages, enthralled in his daughter's work. It was good, very good for a thirteen year old. He wished she had the chance to finish. He wished she was here, in Eight, where she belonged. Not in the Capitol. Not laying in the street. Not dead. Jeanie was too young.

He felt more tears begin to stream down his cheeks.

* * *

Obituary

Oh, Jeanie. I knew you wouldn't win, so I wasn't very surprised to see you dead after the first day. But I'm still upset to see you go. You were just a quiet girl who enjoyed writing. Your writing career could have blossomed into something great one day, but the Games got in the way. I absolutely adored you, no matter how quiet or overshadowed by your alliance you were. Thanks to Silver for accepting Jeanie. She was great.


	11. Emerson Watt

**Emerson Watt, D5F, age 13**

 _Accidentally stabbed in the chest by Garth Kain, D11M_

Placed 20/24, 0 kills

(in Wonder Tribute's Serendipity: the 32nd Hunger Games)

* * *

 ** _Genesis Watt, age 41_**

 ** _Emerson's Mother_**

* * *

There was so much Genesis wished she could take back. The reprimands. The orders. The simple _no_. So, so much. She should have given Emerson everything she could. Everything.

Because now it was too late.

Genesis stood behind the counter of the Watt family cofffee shop, a fake smile plastered across her face. A look of joy on her face, but the heavy feeling of grief buried in her heart. For a moment, her daughter stood in front of her, her eyes far away, holding a small espresso cup on a saucer. Genesis blinked, and she was gone.

Emerson was gone. Seeing her was cruel after her death, even if it was in a grief-induced hallucination.

Genesis felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see her husband, Malcolm. He gave her a sympathetic look and Genesis collapsed against him, wailing so loud every single customer jumped. Genesis gave in to the entirety of it all, the looming sorrow and loss, the feeling that she wasn't the only mother who went through this. She was not the only mother who had lost a child to the Hunger Games.

In an instant, Emerson's short thirteen years of life flashed before Genesis's eyes. Her birth, the screaming baby girl with the wisps of dark hair. Watching her toddle precariously on chubby toddler legs. Five years old now, a kiss on the cheek as Emerson ran off for her first day of school. The diagnosis. _She has attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, Misses Watt, ADHD for short._

Drowning now, Genesis was drowning in her tears and in her young child's life. Emerson spilling a cup of coffee, and scalding liquid burning her. Emerson drawing in latte foam. First reaping, and then The Reaping. Genesis relived her daughter being reaped and then something happened to Genesis Watt that was unexplainable, that was so sudden and spontaneous only the best Capitol doctor could diagnose it.

Genesis broke.

Her world shattered as her mind was ripped to pieces. She went limp and Malcolm caught her, supported her, kept her from slipping away completely, but she was gone, Genesis was in a terrible place, a place where hundreds of people fell towards once they lost a loved once.

 _Add one more to the population. The mother of Emerson Watt is coming._

* * *

Obituary

First off, Emerson was a little cinnamon roll. She was a cute little girl with ADHD (because I like making ADHD tributes) and I loved her so much. Out of all of the tributes I made for these Games, Emerson was definitely my favorite. She was adorable and sweet and she was well liked by the people who reviewed. Emerson, my little baby girl, I hope you're happy where you are. Thanks to Wonder Tribute for accepting her and writing her so well. You did a really great job.


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